Aftermath
by Eve Davidson
Summary: The events after the cemetery in "When doves Cry" first person Craig point of view.
1. Chapter 1

In the cemetery. I was hugging Joey, kind of crying. Yeah, my dad hit me. It sounded so awful just said like that. And he kicked me and punched me and strapped me. And I couldn't take it anymore but now what? Would Joey bring me back to him? Would he bring me to a hospital or something? A police station? Children's Aid? I didn't want to go to any of those places.

He was talking to Sean over my shoulder and I saw Sean get in the back seat of the car, and Joey put his arm around me and sort of led me to his car. I was still crying, sort of hitching sobbing crying and I felt stupid crying in front of Sean. He must think I'm such a loser. So I tried to stop, tried to pull it together. Whatever would happen I wouldn't cry. I was kind of scared to ask Joey what he was going to do, where he was going to bring me. 

He started the car and pulled away from the cemetery and I leaned my head against the window, watching the trees and the houses kind of slip by.

"Joey," I said, and I could see Sean in the rearview mirror sitting still and quiet in the back seat.

"Yeah?"

"You're not gonna, um, bring me back home, are you?"

He looked at me, his face all filled with this pity and concern that made me cringe. God, I felt stupid.

"No, no. You can stay with me tonight," he said, his voice gentle. I nodded, blinked back tears again. Ughh, what a fucking mess I was, God. He dropped Sean off, and I hadn't ever seen his house before. I could hardly see it now in the dark, but it looked about the size of my father's garage.

"Uh, bye, Craig," Sean said, not really looking at me. I looked down, so embarrassed. I mumbled bye to him and watched him run up to his little house, all run down with shingles missing and the wooden steps broken off in places, and the yard just dirt.

I leaned my head on the cool glass again, and it felt good against my face. Joey drove, staring right at the road, both hands on the wheel. We got to his house and I got out of the car, felt so tired all of a sudden, this day had been too much. Too much by far.

Inside I saw Emma, and she looked at me with cautious concern and a little fear. I looked away from her, wiped the tears from my cheeks. I sat on the couch, just looked down, and listened to them talk about me like I wasn't even there.

"So he was there," Emma stated, her voice quiet.

"Yeah, but…I don't want to leave him. Think your mom can come pick you up?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll call her. Think he's okay?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe I should bring him to a hospital,"

"I don't know, Joey. He's been through a lot today. He'll probably be better off just staying here,"

I silently thanked Emma as Joey nodded and she made her phone call to her mom. I did not want to go to a hospital, people touching me and asking me questions. No. No way. And I was fine. I was in pain a little, still, from those kicks but I didn't need a hospital.

Emma stood at the door waiting for her mom and Joey was in the kitchen. I didn't feel like moving from this spot. I heard the beep of Emma's mom's car, and she called out goodbye to Joey.

"Thanks, Emma," he said, and she nodded at him.

"Bye, Craig," she said softly, and I looked up at her.

"Bye," I said, and watched her pull on the door knob and go.

Something mindless was on T.V. and I could barely follow it, everything they did one moment seemed unconnected to the next moment. I didn't care. I couldn't concentrate. I felt like I was gonna be in trouble, my dad would be pissed I wasn't home. He'd find me. He would. Joey's house wasn't such a reach.

Joey came over with a cup of tea and two Tylenols. He handed them to me with a little glass of water.

"Take those," he said, and I did. I wasn't up for questioning things. All I could do was blindly follow directions. I kept worrying about my dad finding me, getting so mad at me, his face all twisted with anger, the way he said my name, "Craig!"

"We should talk a little," Joey said, and I glanced at him. Sighed. I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to do anything.

"No, Joey, I'm kinda tired…"

"Look, I know you don't want to talk about this and I don't blame you, but in order for me to help you I have to know what's going on. How bad is it?"

I looked at him, blinked slow. This was a secret. It had been a secret for so long. I couldn't just tell him. I couldn't. So instead I lifted up my shirt so he could see the bruises, and I looked away but I heard him gasp.

"Oh, Craig. Oh my God,"

"Okay?" I said, "don't make me go back there,"

He looked like he was mad at my dad and shocked and sorry for me all at once, and he shook his head.

"No. You don't have to go back. Of course not,"


	2. Chapter 2

So good, I wouldn't have to go back there, but he might come here after me. He might. He was probably home now, being pissed off. Sitting at the kitchen table, his hands folded in prayer, thinking all kinds of bad things about me. Thinking that I was ungrateful. Thinking that I ran away, that I disobeyed, that I chose Joey and Angela over him, that I was just like my mother.

It was funny how this thought process of his never seemed to include himself. What about him? What about him throwing me to the cement floor and kicking me? What about him taking off his belt and strapping me? What about all the bruises and the welts that I was always dealing with? What about him beating on my bedroom door with a golf club? Telling me to open the door. Why would I do that? Why would I open the door and let him beat me with a golf club? How was I the one who was wrong in this situation?

I didn't think I could get to sleep, and I didn't think I had a place to sleep here anyway. I hadn't stayed here in years. I didn't think I ever would again. Once mom died that was it with the visits to Joey and Angela. But Joey wasn't pushing it. He let me sip my tea and watch T.V. and that was fine with me. Maybe I could just fall asleep on the couch.

"Craig," Joey said. He was sitting in the chair. I glanced over at him. He looked kind of nervous, uncertain. I guessed this wasn't too easy for him, either.

"Yeah?" I said, and turned back to the T.V. I didn't want to talk, but he did. I could tell. But for a few seconds I could lose myself in the colors and patterns on the T.V.

"What else, um, what else has he done?" I sighed. I supposed there was no getting out of this sort of conversation. It was because things had to be decided. It was serious, Joey knew that. I'd been acting crazy. Running away, almost taking Ang with me, almost getting hit by a train, talking to my mother at her grave in the middle of the night. Things had to be decided and he had to know just what was going on. I knew that. But I didn't want to talk about it so I hung my head and was quiet.

"Craig? C'mon, buddy, just tell me,"

Just this once, I said to myself. I'd talk about it just this once and then never again. So I licked my lips and turned to Joey and started talking, my voice a quiet monotone as I described it all.

"What else has he done? He hits me, kicks me, punches me, straps me. Not all the time but enough, enough that I always know it's coming, or could come. That any little thing could get him angry enough, and I always screw up. Joey, I'm a terrible kid and I make my dad angry. So that's what happens," I wouldn't cry, even though I kind of felt like crying. Again. I was such a fucking baby. But Joey was looking at me with that unbearable pity.

"No, Craig, it isn't your fault-"

"Yes it is! You don't know because you're not there! It's all my fault, I screw up all the time! That's why, why-" And I couldn't help it. I just started crying again, thinking about how much I'd screwed up and let people down and how things were at some kind of horrible low, that I couldn't even go back home, and what would my dad think? How would he think of me now?

"It's okay, shhhhhhhh, Craig," Joey came over to me and hugged me and I felt myself stiffen in his arms, every muscle going tense with any kind of contact. I knew that that was screwed up. I knew I was screwed up and sometimes I blamed dad and not myself. But I put my arms around Joey a little, not really touching him very much, only with my hands, my arms not touching him. The least amount of contact the better. But it was easier to cry without looking at him and he rubbed and patted my back and it kind of felt comforting. But it was more unbearable than comforting and as soon as I could I pulled away, pulled into myself, wiped my tear stained face. Wished we hadn't had this damn conversation and he'd left me alone to watch T.V.


	3. Chapter 3

Joey said I could sleep on the couch. That was fine. He got me a blanket and pillow and I laid there in my clothes, my shoes under the couch.

"Okay, buddy?" Joey said, touching my shoulder. I nodded. He was going to go upstairs soon and I needed him to. I needed to be alone.

Instead of worrying about my dad freaking out and killing me because I didn't come home, I watched T.V. I really concentrated on it. It was the only light in the room. But I could barely keep my eyes open after awhile. I was exhausted. More tired than I think I've ever been in my life.

Waking up the next morning was disorienting. I honestly didn't know why I wasn't in my room when I woke up, and for a second I was just blank. Like, what the fuck? Where was I? And then it all came crashing back.

I sat up, feeling kind of uncomfortable from sleeping in my clothes. I rubbed my eyes. Saw Joey in the kitchen making coffee.

"Craig!" Angie had come down the stairs, her dark hair all sleep corkscrews. She was sleepy looking, and her pajamas looked so soft, so pink. She smiled at me and tilted her head.

"Craig, you're here!" She climbed up on the couch and leaned against me, yawning and reaching for the remote. I smiled at her.

"Yeah," I said, as she clicked the T.V. on and put on cartoons. I stood up and she laid down on the couch, watching T.V., not a care in the world. I envied her suddenly, this sharp envy that I could taste.

I went to the kitchen and watched Joey drink his coffee, his navy blue robe wrapped around him.

"Hey," he said, looking at me over the rim of his cup, "want breakfast? We've got cereal, and oatmeal…"

"No," I said, shaking my head. My stomach felt small and shriveled. I couldn't eat.

"Listen, uh, Joey, my dad-"

"Don't worry. I spoke to him and told him that you're staying here," He took another sip of coffee. He was leaning against the counter and glancing at the newspaper spread open on it.

"You did? It's, he's okay with that?" I couldn't quite believe that my dad was okay with this. I'd thought maybe he'd come down here and drag me back home, and then, well. You know.

"Yeah, it's fine. Don't worry," When Joey said this he said it a little slower than he usually talked, and he looked right into my eyes. I believed him. Maybe it would be okay. I let out my breath, and I hadn't even been aware that I was holding it.

I had one change of clothes. That was all I'd packed when I was on the phone with Sean, trying to shove stuff into my bag while I listened to the pounding on my door. It just wasn't the best packing conditions. But at least I could take a shower and put on my own clothes. I thought of the trip we'd have to take to get all my stuff. I couldn't face my dad. I just couldn't.

But I didn't have to face him right now. I was kind of living in the moment. I had to, in this weird way. I felt almost homeless. Joey was letting me stay here. It wasn't like I lived here. I didn't live anywhere anymore.

So I went upstairs and took a shower, and I barely looked at the bruises that were all over my chest and stomach, and I barely felt them when the hot water hit my body.


End file.
